


Consoling Coercion

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: Alternate ending to the scene in 1x18 Bluff when Sara visits Michael in J-Cat. Dialogue lifted from the episode.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I have a really hard time with all these type of stories, in which Michael and Sara have sex in Fox River. I know it's absurd (both from a character standpoint as well as a logistical one), but this was written as a gift for a friend and a challenge to myself.

Michael examined Haywire’s drawing, and hoped it would be enough. He felt like it would be, as though the faith that had waned in the darkness of the cell in Ad Seg had flourished again here in this place where everyone dressed in white. It couldn’t have been farther from heaven, though he wryly acknowledged it felt safer than Gen Pop ever had.  
  
But he needed to go back, the sooner, the better.  
  
When he heard a knock at his door, he turned and carefully set aside that most precious sheet of paper. “Hey,” he said, his happiness at seeing Sara two-fold. Hopefully, she would get him out of J-Cat and on his way back to saving his brother, but the tightening in his chest at her presence was most surprising.  
  
She had been there, in the dark with him, and for the first time, perhaps ever in his life, it hadn’t been Lincoln who pulled him back from the blurry edge, but instead the gentleness in her touch and the concern in her voice.  
  
“Hi,” she responded. Her eyes studied him; he could feel their penetration from across the small space that separated them. “They said you wanted to talk to me?” He knew she was searching for signs of what she’d seen the previous day. He hoped she could see it was gone. Or that he was back. Or whatever it was, exactly.  
  
“Yeah,” he said emphatically, the part of him that was ready to resume his mission. “Um, yeah,” came out more softly, because he knew he had come back to himself, and that he never intended to let a situation get out of his control like that ever again. This was prison, but his mind had to be in perfect form, and he wouldn’t allow himself to become so overwhelmed ever again. He couldn’t take a chance that it would all seemingly fall into place and work out like it had this time.  
  
“Okay,” she said as she entered the room. She glanced back at the guard, nodding. “Good.”   
  
Michael was relieved to see the guard walk away, and he relished this small moment to plead his case privately to Sara. But then he remembered that the only piece of furniture in his cell was the single bed shoved haphazardly in one corner. “Ummmm. Please,” he finally said as he pointed a hand towards the bed. It felt ridiculous, even though it was the only option, but the thought that suddenly erupted in his head about Sara and that small bed made him smile guiltily at her, an attempt to cover his wayward imagination. He’d tried to never entertain anything like that as far as Dr. Tancredi was concerned. He wanted her to feel a certain way, and he wanted her to become malleable for him, but he never intended to feel anything in return. He also had a level of respect for her that made any sexual thoughts feel inappropriate. She wasn’t a seduction target, a way to while away an afternoon. She was necessary to his plan, but he didn’t have to use her in every way. He could keep one line clear and distinct. She’d never appreciate that about him, but he would know, and that was all that mattered.  
  
He hadn’t anticipated attraction, strong and sharp, and apparently, at this moment, more potent than ever before.  
  
“Thanks,” she said as she sat down. As he joined her, she smiled at him and looked expectantly at his face.  
  
Her, on a bed, alone with him in this place, was as innocent and platonic as anything could possibly be, yet he felt anything but innocent and platonic as he sat beside her. In an attempt to rein it back in, he presented her with the innocent and platonic item he’d made for her. "I made you something,” he said enthusiastically, pulling it from under his bed to hand to her. “It’s an ashtray,” he explained unnecessarily.  
  
There was a brief pause as she took it from him. “Um, I don’t smoke?”  
  
“Yeah, I know, but they only let us make these and jewelry. And I didn’t figure you for the macaroni necklace type.” As he said it, he knew it was part of his charm act, only it wasn’t. He realized suddenly that he did know her, in a small, intimate way.   
  
A slightly nervous-sounding giggle escaped her lips. She looked down at the ashtray and then back at Michael. “It’s very sweet,” she pronounced and a bloom of happiness erupted in his chest, as though he had made it with the intent to please her in some way. Like the flower. Oh, God, had he been caught in his own trap? “Uh,” she said softly, “how about we talk about how you’re doing?” The segue couldn’t have been better if he’d twisted the conversation around himself.  
  
That was why he’d wanted her to come here. This was the reason he wanted to see her, nothing else. “I think we both know I don’t belong here,” he said, the proper beginning to his practiced speech. “I don’t remember much about that night, but being locked up in Ad Seg, something must have snapped.” The way she watched him as he explained made him feel even more exposed. The concern she felt was palpable between them, as though she could see the child locked in the furnace closet in his mind. He looked away before saying, “What I’m trying to say is that I think I’ve had enough of arts and crafts.” He forced his eyes back to hers before acknowledging her power. “But that’s your call.”  
  
She responded promptly, her assessment clearly already made. “And the doctors here do say that you’ve been acting fine. The problem is that if you don’t tell the Pope who burned you, he’s going to lock you back up in Ad Seg.” The seriousness of her tone only amplified the truth of the matter because that was exactly what he was afraid of. “And after a couple of days of that, you’re going to be right back here.” Her hand lifted and her fingers wrapped around his forearm. “Michael, I hate what’s happened to you and I hate that you’re here, but you’ve got to let me help you,” she said, her voice sincere, and her grasp on his arm firm. She leaned towards him just slightly as she said, “If you want to get out of psych ward and stay out, you’ve got to tell the Pope the truth about that burn.”  
  
There was a moment where the world tilted slightly. It felt somewhat like the disconnection that had happened between his mind and his body as he’d rammed his fist repeatedly into the concrete wall of his Ad Seg cell. But when his lips touched hers, the reconnection as was fast as lightening and twice as hot. Against all sense, with no game plan whatsoever, he kissed her.  
  
All because she cared so much, and he could feel it, and he somehow yearned for that more than anything else presently, even saving his brother.  
  
The hand around his arm tightened and he felt the bounce of the ashtray on the bed as her other hand came up and pushed against his chest. He kept his eyes closed and his lips on hers, but he stopped moving for that moment, waiting for her to shove him away. Instead her fingernails dug into the cloth of the white jumpsuit over his heart and then he opened his mouth and she reciprocated.  
  
It started tender and gentle, but when he put his arms around her, sliding his hands up her back to pull her closer, it ignited something dark and primitive inside Michael. His mind had catalogued it, though he hadn’t willingly acknowledged it, and now his body was staking the claim that it could never follow through on.  
  
Sara was exactly the kind of woman he’d never dreamed he’d meet, much less find himself kissing in such a totally inappropriate setting where she responded so positively. In every biological, primordial way he recognized her as his mate, as the one designed for him. In every intellectual faction he had, he knew this couldn’t happen, yet her tongue curled up welcomingly around his and both of her hands climbed to fan out against his cheeks, her touch as disturbing and erotic now as it had been calming and reassuring in the dark of Ad Seg.  
  
At first he counted how many kisses she allowed; then it went on for so long it just became one long kiss that changed from teasing and tasting to hungry and demanding and then her arms were around his neck. Michael thought he better put a stop to it, or pull her into his lap, which he was sure if he did, then she’d put a stop to it.  
  
So gathering his common sense, although it felt inhuman to do so, he pulled his mouth away from hers. They both were breathing heavily, and Michael’s brain suddenly started working again when he pressed his forehead to hers and his peripheral vision caught the opened door. The hallway was empty, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way.  
  
He would have gotten up and shut the door, but she clung to him so tightly, he hated to end the embrace. He couldn’t shut the door. He couldn’t do what he wanted so very badly to do right now. Sara wouldn’t allow it.  
  
“You’re all right,” she whispered, and he suddenly knew she was offering comfort again, only in a different form.   
  
He wanted her. He wanted to see her helpless reactions to the feelings he evoked in her. He wanted her equally vulnerable.  
  
So he pulled away from her and got up. Shutting the door precisely before looking back at her, he took in the flushed quality of her cheeks and the softly bright glaze to her brown eyes. When he started to move back towards the bed, she stood up, as though suddenly regaining her own common sense. “Michael,” she said urgently, and he knew he didn’t want to hear whatever she might say next.  
  
His heart hammered so hard, he thought he might pass out, but instead he closed the space between them and grabbed her. She gasped and he moved, pushing her against the wall right by the bed. He pressed his hips into hers and then brushed his mouth over hers. He didn’t say anything; he somehow thought words couldn’t define what he wanted or felt, and they might make her struggle against him instead of closing her eyes in a defeated sort of surrender that made him harder than he already was.  
  
She knew what he wanted, and he knew she wanted it too, and there was a whole lot said in the tense silence between them. Then Sara’s arms moved up his shoulders and her hand cupped the back of his head, and they were kissing again.  
  
In one part of Michael’s mind, the part that detailed everything, it was slow and sweet and perfect. In the other part of his mind, the part that had somehow lost all control of the feelings he had for Sara Tancredi, it was rough and passionate and escalating so quickly, his hands were inside her black dress trousers before he even realized he’d unbuttoned them. They dropped with ease from around her waist to pool at her ankles and his fingers glided under the sensible elastic band of her white cotton panties until she arched against his hand and moaned heatedly. The curls between her thighs were damp and the sensitive pads of his fingers combed over them gently, their springy softness distracting and delightful. But then Sara’s hips moved forward, seeking more from him and he allowed just one finger to move downward into the wet warmth that awaited him.  
  
Feeling the slick, tight passage with just his finger sent more waves of desire through him. He imagined how she’d feel around him, and just the thought squeezed the breath from his lungs. Gasping, he pulled his mouth from hers so he could see her face as he stroked her.  
  
Sara’s eyes popped open when he ended their kiss, but then they rolled back as his moist finger moved from inside her to rub enticingly at her clitoris. She arched again, and her nails dug into the back of his neck. “Please,” she whispered, and Michael felt his own underwear grow impossibly uncomfortable. “Don’t,” she said between gritted teeth, and Michael’s disappointment was so profound, for a moment he entertained the idea of ignoring her command.  
  
It would be so easy to make her submit. She was so close, he could tell by the perspiration on her forehead and the color in her face, not to mention the tenseness of her body against his. But for the man who had woken up that morning having never let himself think about Sara Tancredi this way, it was impossible to disregard her wishes.  
  
Slowly he removed his hand from inside her underwear and eased himself back. Her eyes searched his, their ability to pierce him greater now that they’d been so intimate. Then one of her hands moved from behind his head to the zipper at the top of his jumpsuit. The sound of it going down was so loud, Michael’s whole world narrowed to just that and the touch of her fingertips as they brushed down his chest and over his belly. The zipper ended just below his crotch area, and they both drew in a shaky breath as her hand continued below his abdomen.  
  
When her hand slid inside his underwear, Michael finally understood her command. He arched up into her touch, seeking more contact—seeking the ultimate contact. Sara’s eyes never left his as she moved her free hand to push her panties all the way down and then she guided him to her. As the heat of their bodies combined, Michael finally regained the ability to move and scooped her bottom into his palms, lifting her up as he pressed deeply inside her. One of her legs wound around his hip and he discovered she’d completely disentangled herself from her pants and underwear to clasp him tightly to her.  
  
His first withdrawal and thrust were fierce and she made a sound deep in her throat that made him glance at her face to make sure he hadn’t hurt her. Her hands framed his face and she drew his mouth to hers as the next thrust caused stars to explode behind Michael’s closed eyelids. The third thrust was harder, even, and he went so deep, he thought he might have exceeded his limits and the tingling arrival of his orgasm hovered just beyond his reach. Gripping her bottom tightly with one hand, he moved his other hand between them, determined not to leave her out when this was the way she’d wanted it happen. He used his finger to make her come, but she used her body to wring a climax from him that caused him to black out for a moment.  
  
The first wandering thought through his mind as he came back to himself involved a languorous fantasy where he lay down with her on the too-small bed in the corner. He would ask her all kinds of questions so that their next round of lovemaking could be even more intense. But he knew, if he had any brainpower left, he’d hurry and withdraw himself from the depths of her body before someone found them.  
  
Her head rested on his shoulder and her hands rubbed gently inside the unzipped jumpsuit against the bare skin of his torso, stroking and caressing his sides and the edges of his hipbones. He had missed the part where they had abandoned his face and found another place on his body to tenderly seduce.  
  
God, he wanted her. This would never be enough; he wanted the whole deal, and that, above all, was why he’d tried to keep these thoughts at bay.   
  
Dislodging himself from her embrace was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done in his entire life, and she didn’t make it any easier by refusing to meet his eyes while her body clung slightly. Then it seemed she too remembered the precariousness of their location and she moved away from him to quickly pull her clothes back on.  
  
A few moments later, as she straightened her lab coat, she finally looked at him. “You’ll talk to the Pope?” she asked, as though their conversation hadn’t been interrupted for several long minutes by this most sacred and intimate act.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, his throat dry, his voice choked. Because he’d been watching her re-dress, he hadn’t done anything to repair his own disheveled state. Carefully, he zipped up his jumpsuit while clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah. I’ll tell him exactly what happened.” Her eyes widened and he knew she had the momentary thought that he meant what had  _just_ happened. “I’ll tell him who burned me,” he clarified.  
  
“Good,” she said briskly and then she moved to the door.  
  
“Sara…” Michael said, trying to prevent her departure. He didn’t know what else to say.  _Thank you_  wasn’t appropriate, but neither was acting as though nothing had happened.  
  
“I have to go see to your processing papers,” she said, her hand gripping the doorknob firmly.  
  
In a last ditch effort to maintain the intimacy between them, he moved forward quickly and put his hand against the door so she couldn’t open it easily. Then he wrapped his fingers around her forearm, the warmth of her skin now so much more familiar as his hand slid down to her wrist. Their eyes met and then he leaned down, brushing her lips lightly with his own. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, feeling as though this were the end of a very awkward date.  
  
Slowly, as though understanding what he was doing, she smiled. “Yes,” she agreed. “Soon.”  
  
He stepped back so she could open the door. After she disappeared through it, he found himself walking back to the drawing Haywire had made for him. Looking at it intently, he realized he was searching for Sara in the intricate lines. There was no way to make her fit, but he desperately wanted to find some way to make her appear there.  
  
When he noticed the ashtray still sitting on his bed, he couldn’t help but acknowledge he was probably about as much use to her as it.  
  
  



End file.
